Little People
by Frozen Time
Summary: Superficially, only literature and coincidence could connect Tezuka and Shui. But on a deeper level, it seemed that there was a greater sense of loss beneath the façades of a passive realist and a café waitress. -dream novel-
1. (i) Time Forgets

**Title:** Yourself

**Published:** 8 August, 2012

**Author:** Ribbon

**Target:** Tezuka Kunimitsu

**Default Name:** Shui Fujika

* * *

**I. YOURSELF**

_One: Time Forgets_

I've heard people say, "It will heal with time."

Choosing to believe it is something I've always had difficulty with. Had time been a healer, then no time would be wasted.

I saw time like wealth: it was something that I would need a little more of if I wanted to call myself content.

I twirled the broom in my hand, staring at the empty seat by the window.

Morning had come. But he had not.

He wasn't sitting in the seat by the window, leaning on a propped up elbow and his eyes roving over the streets behind his foggy lenses. Next to the only movement he made was when he unconsciously traced the rim of his cup with his left index finger, or when he turned the pages of whichever book he was reading at the time.

He'd talked to me once. Twice. Many times. He was an earnest man by demeanor, but kind by heart, and gentle by nature. Whenever he saw me leaning on the broom, dozing off to sleep, he would invite me to sit down with him. He could tell that early morning cleaning wasn't my forte.

Once he asked if I wanted a coffee.

Another time, he said to me, "You shouldn't be working here."

At first, I wasn't sure what he meant.

He seemed like the kind of person to keep his opinions reserved. Or perhaps I'd just never expected him to be upfront about his thoughts. But that was just one of the things about life; surprises were something to shake up the lack of excitement I felt at any given time.

Ordinarily, I would have been grateful for the monotony of my lifestyle. But now that I had experienced more, it was impossible to go back to that. It's a little bit like coffee; once you start drinking it, you can't stop.

I leaned on the broom, stifling a sigh.

He was not there to tell me otherwise.

_- x -_

The first time he came into the café, he carried a copy of _The Ringmaster's Daughter_ under his arm and ordered a coffee. His eyes were rimmed with small bags, and his voice was slow and moving, the way a dream felt. For the few years I'd worked as a waitress here, I'd seen many customers flow in and out of the café, and noted that they were all the same: they had no interest in the outside world—just their thoughts and a hot drink. And yet, something about this man seemed different. The way he marginalized himself seemed different to the way others did it.

He lost himself easily to his thoughts, just like all the other customers that came alone. But his thoughts weren't contained by the walls that closed this building off from the street. He seemed so... enamored by the outside world—as if he wanted to be out there.

The first time he came into the café, I didn't talk to him. I let him read his book and trace the rim of his coffee cup in silence, pausing every so often to stare out the window.

I blinked as I watched on. He seemed like such a lonely man.

That was something I could empathize with.

And yet, loneliness seemed to be our only connection. He seemed so different in contrast to me. He looked as if he had lost something important to him, whereas the only thing I had lost was my sense of direction in life. I was working in a café with no life goals past getting a new apartment in the future; little to no friends outside of my high school and co-worker circles; and enough money to keep me going—to buy me enough time to think for a little longer. He, on the other hand, looked as if he had far too much time, and more than enough money to buy it.

He routinely came back to the café, at exactly seven o' clock every day. Never a minute early, and never a minute late. He was a man of precision.

He was also a man of few words. During the first week, we didn't speak through words. Our only communication was an exchange of smiles before he opened a page in his book and read. He did so for at least ten minutes at a time before glancing up to stare out the window, and return to reading once more.

Was he contemplating, I wondered, or just distracted?

The curiosity grew on me.

I had saved up all my courage for a week before I finally felt brave enough to speak to him.

When I poured his coffee that morning and handed him the cup, we exchanged a smile as we usually did. Between the time he smiled and he started to open his book, I realized I only had a fraction of a second before my chance was gone completely.

Or, so it would have been, had my indecisiveness not caught his attention.

"Is something wrong?" He asked, moving his hand away from the cup, so as not to be tempted to trace the rim. He lowered his book to sit it on the table.

I gave him a sheepish smile, feeling inadequate for blustering. Hospitality called for a smile and confidence—the latter of which I found incompetent in comparison to his. As a nervous habit, I brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. "No, don't worry about it. Enjoy your coffee."

"I will." He said. Then he turned back to his book.

I left him be, having no spine to continue the conversation, and decided that it would be best to go back to what I should have been doing. It would be a bright idea to sweep before the manager came to check on my progress, or until more customers came in.

I fetched he broom and started to sweep, deliberately turning my back on the man. I felt my skin prickling, feeling anxious that he might looking at me. But when I turned around, he was still engrossed in reading, tracing the rim of his cup. I blinked slowly, not realizing that I was leaning on the broom.

Then the manager, Tsuwabaki, caught me out. "Ah, Shui-san, I see you're up early and completely unfocused, as usual." She clapped me over the shoulder. "Don't give up your day job. It's the only thing you need to concentrate on at the moment. Now let's get these floors swept."

Her voice was just the thing to distract the man from his book. He looked up to see the cause of the unusual commotion, making me look away immediately. Tsuwabaki said nothing, at least pretending she hadn't seen where my attention had wandered, and gave me one last encouragement of her kind. Then she left me to work.

It was an unconscious movement on my part to I look back to the man reading his book. I cursed myself for doing so when I realized that he was looking in my direction.

I almost bit my lip. Was he going to laugh? Make a comment?

He surprised me by doing neither—just offered a smile in my direction and went back to his book.

That was the first time I felt something for Tezuka Kunimitsu.

_- x -_

For perhaps the sixth time that week, Tsuwabaki congratulated me for my absentmindedness on the job. She had given up on making me wash the dishes during the cold weather; the warm water in the sink made me drowsy, and she always caught me out yawning in place of loitering.

"I considered firing you." She said. "But you're a hard-worker. Just put that to use more often."

She said that in witness of Tezuka, whom she bade me serve after she finished grilling me.

Usually, when I started to approach Tezuka, he would offer me an encouraging smile, and that was enough for me to forget Tsuwabaki's words. This time, when I started to pour his coffee, he spoke to me. "It seems your manager doesn't have any faith in your ability to do your job."

I steadied my pouring as I smiled sheepishly. "I get side-tracked very easily."

"So I see." He said, noting that I was about to pour over the edge of the coffee cup. I quickly tilted the spout of the pot back up, silently cursing the fact that I'd filled the cup to the brim. Even though I hadn't perceived Tezuka as an overly expressive person, I sensed that he was amused by my lack of concentration.

"I'm sorry about that..." I started to apologize, but he interjected.

"Don't let it worry you." He said. "You said you were...?"

"I didn't." I said, a smile touching my face. I had always imagined me having to ask for his name. But it had happened the other way around. "Shui Fujika. It's a pleasure to meet you properly. And you would be...?"

"Tezuka Kunimitsu." He said.

Tezuka Kunimitsu, I thought.

I liked that name.

* * *

**Princo & Ribbon**

_August 8, 2012._


	2. (i) Maybe

**Title: **Yourself

**Published: **8 August, 2012

**Author: **Ribbon

**Target: **Tezuka Kunimitsu

**Default Name: **Shui Fujika

* * *

**I. YOURSELF**

_Two: Maybe_

Tezuka Kunimitsu wasn't an assumer. If anything, he was a noticer—an evaluator. He made educated guesses about people based off their mannerisms, the kind of personality they had, the way they spoke, and other fine intricacies that weaved a human personality.

And he was both humble and subtle in the way he went about it. He didn't tell me what my interests were; what I liked to do in my spare time; or how I came to work in this place, even though he might have been able to accurately guess. Instead, he asked me.

"In my spare time?" I echoed when he asked what I liked to do in my free time. "I...don't know. Reading, I suppose." There were more things I liked to do than just reading, but even without mention, he seemed to be able to guess what other hobbies I had. It was a strange...skill.

"I see we share something in common." He said, lifting his copy of _The Ringmaster's Daughter_. "No Jostein Gaarder, I suppose?"

"Not quite." I said, smiling. "F. Scott Fitzergald? _The Great Gatsby_?"

His eyes gave me a subtle once over, as if he were trying to match the book to his observations of me. The warped pursuit of happiness, the desire for wealth, and the cynicism the book was written in might have been things he didn't expect a person like me enjoyed.

I thought he might comment about it. Instead, he said, "Perhaps you'd care to take a seat."

The surprise on my face was acknowledged by a smile on his. It might have widened in the second that I looked back to check if Tsuwabaki was watching me.

I didn't see her. "Are you sure? You don't mind?"

He blinked at me. "Not at all."

A rule of the café was to do what it took to satisfy a customer—within reason. I suppose in some ways, I didn't have a choice whether or not I wanted to sit down.

But I wasn't complaining. I took a seat across from Tezuka.

"Tell me." He said. The two words were cue enough.

"Well... it was a novel that really showed what happened to the American dream." I told him, recalling off the top of my head what I remembered from the last time I read it. "It was meant to be about individualism and the pursuit of happiness, but it ended up as greed for affluence and the empty pursuit of pleasure."

He listened... intently. It was strange to, for once, feel like someone took a genuine interest in what I had to say; what I saw in a book; and what I made of it. Tezuka had his arms folded, coffee cup pushed to the side, and his book closed. "Go on."

"After the war, the distortion of more noble goals and the way the American dream became so different from what it should have been... it really brings up a reality for you to question. I like that in books."

Then I nodded at _The Ringmaster's Daughter_.

"What draws you in about that book?" I asked.

For a moment, he paused. The reply that came was, "The reunions."

Those words were something I didn't think I would ever understand.

Then he moved on from the conversation. "Would you recommend _The Great Gatsby_?"

I eased into a smile and nodded.

So did he. "I'll make sure to add it to my list."

_- x -_

The next day, Tezuka didn't come in with_ The Ringmaster's Daughter_, nor did he with any other book. He told me he'd finished it.

Conveniently enough, I'd brought my copy of _The Great Gatsby _to work, should he have happened to stop by as he usually did at seven in the morning and lend it to him.

When I went to pour his coffee, I tucked the book under my arm. He saw it instantly.

"Oh. You noticed." I said, laughing as I set the coffee pot down and took the book out. I extended it towards him. "I thought you might want to borrow it for a read."

He took the book up and pored over the cover. In contrast to the cover of _The Ringmaster's Daughter_, he mightn't have been impressed by the appearance. But I could not make such an assumption; he gave no sign of his emotions, nor a hint of what he was thinking. He merely said, "Thank you. I'll be sure to read it."

_- x -_

When Tezuka came in regularly for a coffee, my copy of the _The Great Gatsby _in his hand, I would ask where he was up to and he would tell me. We would converse for a short while, until Tsuwabaki demanded I get back to work that instant.

He smiled at me whenever she caught me out.

Sometimes, he finished the coffee by the time he would finish talking to me. When Tsuwabaki called me back to work, he tilted his empty cup towards himself, peering at the empty contents. Then he looked up to me and said, "Perhaps I'll go for another one."

I didn't fight the oncoming smile.

_- x -_

Tezuka finished the novel more quickly than I expected.

When I walked over to him out of routine and asked where he was up to in the book, he told me as I poured that he had finished the book.

I looked up at him, blinking.

He looked down at pot, blinking.

Then he reached out, and gently touched my hand. "That's enough." He said, noticing that I was about to pour right over the edge of the cup. He gently grasped my hands and tilted the pot back up, either paying no mind or deliberately turning a blind eye to the stunned look on my face.

_Did he just..._

In my distraction, he took up the book and extended it towards me. "It was a worthy read."

I accepted the book back, hoping I didn't appear too mystified.

His hands free, Tezuka scooped up the handle of his nearly-overflowing cup and gestured with it. Somehow, he managed to effortlessly keep all the coffee inside the cup rather than splashing it over the sides in doing so. "Would you care for one?"

If he was amused by the way I was fighting a smile, he didn't show it. "Are you asking to buy me a coffee?"

He motioned for me to take a seat. Then he called for the nearest waitress—who unfortunately happened to be Tsuwabaki at that time of the morning. It was hard to decide between laughter and a melancholic sigh when she approached, knowing what I would be getting later on from her.

Tsuwabaki took Tezuka's money, gave me a look, and then left. When she did not come back, I retrieved a cup for myself and poured it full of coffee.

Then I smiled at Tezuka. "Thank you."

He returned it. "Not at all."

For some reason, it tasted very sweet.

* * *

**Princo & Ribbon**

_August 8, 2012._


	3. (ii) Dream

**Title:** Myself

**Published:** 27 October, 2012

**Author:** Ribbon

**Target:** Tezuka Kunimitsu

**Default Name:** Shui Fujika

**Author's Note: **It took my quite a while to figure out how I was going to continue this story when 'Yourself' was actually only the first part out of a saga. Turns out I had to replace a few chapters, so readers might want to check that out. I sincerely apologize for the huge slum in updates and the terrible cover image, but my resources are quite limited at the moment. I promise to fix that as soon as I can! Thanks for your patience, readers!

* * *

**II. MYSELF**

_One: Dream_

Flaws in time can resurface as anomalies years after an event.

In my mind, there are many memories from my past and premonitions for my future that I can no longer see. But the ones that I can have a purpose for remaining there.

I've been told that all things happen for a reason, and likewise, all things remain for a reason.

When he expressed his penchant of his time reading _The Ringmaster's Daughter_, I felt like I couldn't have been wrong in making such a blatant assumption. It seemed so possible that Tezuka had lost something important—something he was waiting to be reunited with—and yet so impossible that he'd made a fact about himself so clear.

That was the time I truly felt as if I'd gotten to know Tezuka Kunimitsu.

A catharsis is the only way to free oneself from the regrets tied to a past memory. I've found that 'waiting' only prolongs the discomfort, the guilt, and the anxiety that comes with it. If all Tezuka was going to do was wait, then it would certainly explain why he needed to buy more time for himself.

But why would he bother?

The act of lingering back and waiting for things to be dealt with was a common human behavior. Fear was a natural instinct. But somewhere along the line, one would have to realize that consorting with time was never beneficial, and the faster they gained control over their own life, the faster things would begin to move along for them.

I lived on borrowed time. Long before my time ran out, I realized what 'waiting' had done for me. With the remaining time I had left, I would write my own story.

Tezuka lived on bought time. I wonder how long it would take him to realize who his real enemy was in the war raging on inside himself? If things continued as they were, his story would not last.

Was it possible for two people so similar to struggle down different paths?

That was something I had to live long enough to find out.

_- x -_

The most powerful thing that Tezuka and I shared was the desire to have reunite with something important that we had both lost. Life was not something that I could lose myself as easily in as I could a book. There were some things that couldn't end like a fairy tale. Not everyone could live 'happily ever after.'

_Sleeping Beauty_ had been a large part of my childhood self. The tenacity of the prince's love and his determination to awaken his princess was the one thing that drew me in about the story. It was read to me countless times for that lone reason. I would wait in anticipation for the ending, pretending I didn't know what happened next, every time my father read it to me.

I can still remember my father smiling when he read to me how the prince awoke the princess with a kiss. When the smile reached my face, he would close the book and set it down on my bedside time. He laughed when I said, "Again, daddy!"

He would reach out and ruffle my hair. "Not tonight, princess. You should go to sleep, or your mother won't be very happy with me." He would wink. "But I promise we'll read it again tomorrow night, alright?"

Most mornings, I would be awake earlier than I needed to be, but I pretended to be asleep anyway. My father always knew I was awake. He would see my eyes narrowed to slits as I would wait for him to gallantly kneel down beside my bed and kiss my forehead. "Rise and shine, princess!"

I think that, growing up, my family was the most important part of my life.

The benefit of living in real time was experiencing how long things lasted. In a fairy tale, the story had to be told quickly, so the little girl reading it would never fall asleep before the end. It was gratifying to be able to treasure my years with my family for such a long time.

But reality's shortcoming was that once a part in life had been lived, there was no way of being able to return to the past—no way to re-read or re-see anything. Once I had lived it, there was no re-living it; the closest I could get to it was remembering what had happened over the years.

And perhaps the worst part was that, in reality, pain was prolonged.

I can't imagine the pain that my father felt as he withered in his hospital bed, becoming a carcass of a former human in the flesh. He knew that any moment, his heart would tick down to his countdown. Reality was his greatest torture.

I can remember wishing once that it would end, and that he would finally be granted the peace he deserved. I hated standing the sight of fear in his eyes. Neither a knight nor a prince could show his fear—especially in front of his princess. Better happiness in death than pain in life.

As I look back, I hated myself for wishing that.

His steady journey to a fabricated recovery was enough inspiration for me to venture out and follow in my father's footsteps. I told myself I would take the leap of faith that he did, and make him proud for when he returned home. He would see that everything could go back to normal. In a week, he would see me graduating from high school, and my father would be in the crowd, applauding and cheering shamelessly as I received my certificate.

Then the call came.

They told me he had passed away from a sudden heart attack.

Before they carted Shui Ryoto away to be buried in a coffin worthy of a man such as he, they let me see him. I was seventeen by then, and well aware that fairy tales were nothing more than a thought-provoking part of my childhood. And yet, the smallest part of me wanted to see his eyes open when I kneeled at his bedside like a gallant knight, and tried to wake him with a kiss on the side of his face.

He didn't stir.

_- x -_

There was more to Tezuka than met the eye, and I knew that. Despite his intelligence and talent for perception, there was little chance that he could read deeper into me than my superficial demeanor. Likewise, I didn't expect to find out much more about him than he knew about me.

Fairy tales weren't something I could cling to anymore. Whatever I felt for him was irrelevant.

I loved my father, but fairy tales never brought him back to me.

In another way, I loved Tezuka. But fantasies weren't enough to keep him beside me.

_- x -_

That morning, Tezuka walked in that morning several minutes late.

There was a muffler wrapped tightly around his neck, and his hair was in disarray—and not in the artistic way he usually had it. Certainly, for a man of such precision and composure, it was unexpected.

His eyes were lightly laced with red and rimmed by shadowy lines when I greeted him with a jug full of hot coffee in one hand, and an empty cup in the other. "Long night?" I asked with a sheepish smile.

Despite his condition, he returned the gesture and said, "Very."

"This might ease the transition." I said, pouring him a cup of coffee. We both watched me pour this time, should I spill it like I had already done so on numerous occasions. I lifted up the spout before the coffee level drew too close to the top, and forked his morning cup of coffee over. "No one said waking up was easy."

September passed by in such a hurry. At first, I wondered what it was running away from so quickly.

As I left Tezuka in peace for early morning cleaning, I realized that it was that I, a person, and September, a personification, held in common. It was time that we were running from, savoring the hope that we would find what we were looking for before the bargain ended.

_Why do I feel the need to keep running?_

The broom in my hand served little more purpose than something for me to lean on as my eyes wandered to Tezuka. He was lost in _Beslan: The Tragedy of School_, his face clean of any emotions, and the only give-away of his thoughts being the finger on his right hand that traced the rim of his cup.

_What is he running from?_

Then I blinked slowly.

Right hand. Not left hand.

_How much further do we run?_

_- x -_

Tsuwabaki surprised me later that morning.

"Ah, Shui-san: just the person I was looking for." She said, walking up to me with a broom in her hand. To my surprise, however, she did not extend it in my direction (at least, not immediately), but rather, leaned it against a nearby table. She made a gesture. "Take a seat. Let's have a meaningful talk."

I wasn't sure what her definition of 'meaningful' was, but did as I was told. She took a seat opposite to me, and was quick to launch into her topic of interest.

"Shui-san, when was the last time you took a break?"

That made me blink. Nothing of a 'break' came to me immediately. In fact, nothing came to be at all. I tried to form some kind of response, but I was clued into thinking my words weren't what she was waiting to hear. "Last week. I took Sunday off."

"That's not quite what I mean." She said, sighing. "I give every employee at least one day of the week off, so Sundays don't count for you. Do you remember the last time you took a real holiday?"

"No." I admitted. "I can't remember having one."

"I thought so." Tsuwabaki said, folding her arms over the table. "I decided you should take a rest for, so I didn't roster you on at all for the next two weeks. If I keep you here too long, then something bad is going to happen. You seem to be the quintessential force that drives bad happenings around here."

"Oh… I'm sorry." A two week break. Some might have considered that a long break; others, a short one. I didn't place it in either category. My primary focus was wondering what I would do for half a month with nothing but a small, empty apartment and my largely thought-filled mind.

"Well, it also won't be as lively without you stirring up any ado." Tsuwabaki noted. "My advice would be to make the most of your time on your break."

_Time…_

"Go and see your family. I'm sure tireless years of work at this café can't have done much for your relationships." Tsuwabaki said. She rose to her feet, signaling that the conversation was at an end, and seized the broom.

She extended it in my direction. I blinked at it, slowly taking it.

"That being said," she said, "the shop needs sweeping."

Tsuwabaki caught the general area where Tezuka was already sitting with his coffee in a grand sweeping gesture. Too, did she unintentionally catch Tezuka's attention. He looked up briefly and offered a smile in our direction before returning to his book

She turned to look at me with a skeptical eyebrow. "I think keeping relationships steady is your biggest priority at the moment. Don't waste the two weeks I gave you."

"Tsuwabaki-san… thank you."

"No need for thanks." Suddenly, she looked encouraging. I hadn't seen her like that for a long time. "You haven't had a day off in a long time."

Then she left without turning around.

_- x -_

It was strange that Tsuwabaki should have mentioned my family in the first place—even stranger than the fact that I couldn't remember my last proper break. I was contemplating her words over a cup of coffee with my reflection in it—one that, as usual, Tezuka had bought me.

I hadn't realized that what bothered me looked like it was bothering him.

"You look troubled." He said, words lifting my gaze. His right hand was resting on the spout of his cup. _Beslan: The Tragedy of School _lay to the side as I sat with him. He never read while I sat with him. "Is something bothering you?"

"Something... I don't quite understand."

"May I ask what?"

"How relationships fade so easily."

He was silent for a moment. "Friends?"

I shook my head. "Family."

For some reason, he relaxed. "Faith is a difficult thing to grasp." He said.

"Making the leap is even harder."

"Waking up to the realization is the hardest thing."

We sat there for a moment, smiling over the rims of our raised coffee cups. Then, Tezuka asked me something that I didn't expect. "How do you think hysteria defies logic?"

I blinked slowly. "It's easier to believe ill of someone than good." I said. "To genuinely be able to praise a person without jealousy is an accomplishment for any human being."

"Do you believe ill of your family?"

"Far from it." I said.

"You want to believe ill of them?"

"I don't think so."

That, in his eyes, left one option. "You don't want to your thoughts to defy your already-perceived judgments." He said. "You dislike change."

These words of his took longer to sink in that the others that he had said to me in the past few minutes, and for some reason, and crawled under my skin like a memorable quote would.

This time, I had no defense in response to his words. So I didn't defend myself. "It feels as though I'm being read like a book."

"We are all human." He said, amused by my self-proclaimed narrow-mindedness. "Change is something that ruins the familiarity of our world. It becomes an unfamiliar land completely, and we long for nothing but the past that we used to know. What we long to know, we are not eager to, for in order to do so, we must first traverse the _terra incognita_ that we come across_._"

He spoke with a wistfulness, which showed in his unusually expressionless face as well as in his unusually distant voice. There was something about the way he spoke—a greater lack of emotions than usual—that made it hard to grasp what he was trying to convey.

My perceptions could never be as great as Tezuka's. But it struck me that Tezuka was trying to convince himself of his words as much as he was trying to convince me.

His transition from his day-dream back into reality, however, was subtle, and I found him soon smiling reassuringly at me. "In these times, there is nothing to do but accept what has been. The lands that aren't marked on your map, but you are expected to discover that for yourself, if you choose to. There are answers that lay off track to your destination. Would you ignore them, or continue on towards the future?"

I could not respond immediately.

And I didn't have to. "It's up to you to decide where you want to go." Tezuka said. "Unearth the answers you've been waiting to hear, or forget everything happened and move on."

My smile was forced. "Both of them sound a bit naïve."

"As we all once were." He finished.

There was a momentary silence. Tezuka had not been so upfront to me about such things before. And even if he had noticed, he didn't mention anything of it.

The atmosphere of expectancy faded, and with Tezuka's more laid-back discussion, the normal mood of the café came back. That was, as normal as the café could feel.

"I hear you have next two weeks off." Tezuka said.

This time, I was able to smile genuinely. "I wonder where you heard that from?"

"A little bird sang it to me on the wind." Tezuka said.

"With a rather raucous cry insisting that, too, I should sweep." I could help but laugh a bit at that one. My coffee cup was empty. Not even a granule remained. "Which I shall."

Tezuka was not quick to let me leave. He pulled out the money for another cup of coffee, and it hard not to refuse his offer. I gratefully poured myself another cup of coffee as he asked me, "Will you visit your family over that weekend?"

"Tsuwabaki said the same thing." I said, half to myself. It felt like the conversation about my unknown lands had passed by with a blur, and for a second, I didn't remember any of the words that we had exchanged. "It's not that I don't want to visit them. But they live a long way away. I'm not sure if interrupting the peaceful flow of their lives is something that they'd be altogether happy with, nor am I sure I can afford to pay for the flights."

Tezuka was silent. I somehow felt like I was disappointing him.

"I'll call them, though." I said. "Maybe they'll be home, and I can talk to them."

He gave a small nod of acknowledgement. Then, he surprised me. He gently prized the napkin out from underneath his coffee cup and asked for a pen. I handed him one, and he started to write something down. Then he slid it over towards me.

A mail address.

"In case they don't answer." He said, clicking the pen and handing it back to me.

_- x -_

Two weeks was a long time a person had to do something with their lives.

I hadn't heard from my mother for four months. The last time she spoke to me was when she broke down over the phone, recalling how Ryoto proposed to her on the day of the _Tanabata_, and how special he would make their anniversary every year. At a time like that, there was nothing else I could have done but listen to her.

She was never the same after my father died. Lately, she would call less and less often, having used up the many excuses she thought up of to call me. I told her she didn't need any excuses to talk to her own daughter. But she stopped calling anyway.

Shui Keiko used to be a woman of authority. She would not take half-hearted excuses from me, and I remember the countless times she grilled me for coming home late after a tutor session at school or after babysitting the children up the street because their mother was on a business trip again. I think that as my dad's strength faded, so did my mother's assertiveness. And, as things were now, I could not help but wonder if her authority was the only thing she was losing.

My mother had always borne the guilt of Ryoto's death. She had always been the one too busy working for the money to pay the hospital bills that she was the last to find out about her husband's death. It was a fate that no human should have deserved—least of all a dedicated, hard-working, loving, loyal wife and mother.

When I called her, and she recognized the voice of her daughter, the incredulous note in her voice made me cringe. "Fujika? Is that really you?"

"Mom, you sound so surprised." I said, laughing a bit. "It's been a while since I talked to you, so I wanted to call you and see how you were doing. How are you? Is everyone treating you well?"

"Yes, they always are." I heard her say. The surprise hadn't faded from her voice. "It's a very calming atmosphere. How about you, Fujika? How are you getting along?"

"I'm alright." I said back. "Nothing ever too exciting in half a lifetime."

"Don't be silly." She said. "I'm sure life is interesting for you. You're just growing up."

It felt so unnatural to talk to my mother as she was now, like a submissive creature, afraid of the unknown lands around her. It was more like we had lost the words we'd wanted to say to each other for so long—words that neither of us had the courage to stay, nor ones that would be conveyed well over the phone.

"Are you eating well?" She asked. "Sleeping well? Working hard?"

"Yes." I said. "I'm treated well."

"That's good." Maybe, at a time like this, she could have been smiling. "See? Things may not be interesting as they are now, but they're nice."

Unspoken words filled the subsequent silence between us.

"Say, Fujika… are you coming to visit any time soon?" She sounded uncomfortable, as if she didn't want to pressure me, or feel like she was forcing me into visiting. Once again, she was being submissive.

"Actually, Tsuwabaki-san gave me the next two weeks off. I want to make the trip, but I'm not sure if I can pay for the air fares. So I wondered…" I paused momentarily. "Why don't you come and visit me instead?"

"Oh… oh, yes, I could do that." It took a little while for her to be able to register what I was trying to say, but when she did, her voice started to pickup. Submersing herself in some form in anticipation allowed her to regain a vibrancy in her voice I hadn't heard in a long time. "Is that alright? I can come and visit you?"

"Mom, you would know if I didn't want you to come." I said. "And there will never be a moment when you're not welcome in my apartment. Come next week. Stay for a little while."

"Can I call you closer to the weekend to confirm?"

"Sure." I said. "Just give me a bit of notice so I can pick you up."

There wasn't much more fuel to keep the conversation going. Our combined awkwardness made the phone call border on uncomfortable. So the rest of the call was short-lived; we both said our goodbyes and hung up.

I knew time at work would pass much more slowly; in exchange for time's help, he expected something in return. Time would wait forever, if it had to. But I could not.

Tezuka spoke of 'terra incognita' as something that was so easy to get lost into. He may have mentioned the divide between ground known and unknown, but he did fail to mention one thing—unless he just left it for me to assume by myself. Should one choose to find answers, deterring oneself from such a path was inevitable. The deeper they went, the more lost they would get, and the harder it would be to get back to familiar ground.

And even if one could get back to familiar ground, it would never hold the same meaning again.

Outside of work, there was little I did. An exciting day for me consisted of hearing from my family and Tezuka, on top of work, reading, and daily chores for my small apartment. There was little more to do, and few places to go other than the café and a little book store nearby. When Tsuwabaki first mentioned that she would be giving me a break, there was not much I had to look forward to.

Now that my mother promised to visit me, I wasn't sure what to think. It wasn't that I wasn't excited. It was more that I didn't know what we would do while we were here.

After my father died, there was little much more to talk about—the past was out of the question; the present was filled with unsaid words; and in the future, we could see nothing but the hope that maybe, one day, one of us would take the initiative to speak to one another.

I didn't understand what I could possibly say to her.

I guess she must have felt the same way about me.

I'd sent Tezuka mail after the phone call with my mother, giving him an address to reply to whenever he felt the need and addressing the matter of my mother. She would come, I made sure to write, but as for what we would do for the next two weeks, well, that was still to be decided.

His reply came just before I went to sleep for the night.

'_You are never given a relationship without the power to make it work. If your relationship with your mother was meant to falter, it would have done so already. Don't lose hope, Shui-san. The words to be exchanged by you and your mother may come more naturally than you think.'_

'Shui-san.' Months, and it still felt like those words were unnatural for Tezuka. In a way, he was the closest friend I'd had in a long time.

I made sure to reply to him.

'_Is there ever a moment when you lose that empowering note to yo__ur speech? I think in the end, I'll live by these words. Thank you, Tezuka-san. —Fujika.'_

I closed the lid to my phone and set it on my bedside table before I went to sleep.

* * *

**Notes:**

_Terra incognita:_ Unknown land. It's used in cartography (map drawing, I believe) to regions and areas that are literally unknown, but I think it's also been used in other contexts. I hope. And if not, just pretend I'm using a cartography metaphor. -sheepish laugh- Thank you, Wikipedia. I appreciated your services.

_Tanabata festival:_ It's a festival that's typically celebrated on July 7th, but I believe it can be celebrated on various other days throughout July and August. It celebrates the annual meeting of the gods Orihime and Hikoboshi (represented by the stars Vega and Altair respectively)—lovers who are separated by the Milky Way and are allowed to see each other only once a year. This day is when Tanabata falls. The festival originated from the Chinese Qixi Festival. Kudos to Wikipedia again.

* * *

**Princo & Ribbon**

_October 27, 2012._


	4. (ii) Leave Behind

**Title:** Myself

**Published:** October 29, 2012

**Author:** Ribbon

**Target:** Tezuka Kunimitsu

**Default Name:** Shui Fujika

**Author's Note: **Yes, finally. I realized that this has been sitting on the site for quite a while. My apologies.

* * *

**II. MYSELF**

_Two: Leave Behind_

A voice is something that is seldom heard.

But, for every voice, I believe that there is an ear. Just one ear will do: anything to hear out the burdens or pleas of a troubled mind.

For every voice, there is an ear, and for every ear, there is a mind that is being consoled by comfort. The ear will respond with a voice of its own. Praise, encouragement... the mind of a human being is small. Its expectations are easily surpassed.

If there is no ear, then there is no voice. No one will speak if no one is willing to listen.

A long time ago, I was an ear for more than one person. I heard out people who didn't have ears, and compensated for those who didn't have the ability to listen. I thought it would make a difference to them, and I'll never know if it did or not. But my unconscious desire to please others was never acknowledged in the slightest.

That was why I thought Tezuka was my ear. He listened to me without a second thought, and genuinely waited to hear my answer when he asked me a question. He came every day at precisely seven o'clock to listen to me talk over a cup of coffee—one that I had poured, but he had paid for. He would wait until Tsuwabaki caught me out before he began to read his book. And when he left, he always said goodbye.

This caliber of happiness was something I hadn't felt in a long time.

Certainly, something changed.

_- x -_

My mother called again, following the week I'd called her. I got back from work on Monday just in time to answer the ringing phone.

"Hello? Mom?"

"Fujika, I just thought I'd call to confirm. Am I able to come next Tuesday?"

There was a kind of vibrancy in her voice that I hadn't heard for a long time. But then again, this had also been the first time she'd called in a long time, too. Most times it was left up to me to dial her number and pay the bills for calls filled with nothing but silence. She was taking the initiative.

_The words to be exchanged by you and your mother may come more naturally than you think._

Maybe it wasn't that they came naturally. Maybe they had already been there, just waiting to be said.

"Sure. I finish work this Friday." I said.

"I see... so I can come?"

"Of course. I've been looking forward to it." I really had.

At that time, I wished I could have seen my mother's face. I hoped I was right to picture her smiling. Strong and smiling. "I have been, too." She said, sounding as if she was regaining the confidence she used to have. "I can be there on Tuesday evening."

"I'll be there to pick you up." I promised.

Some part of me unconsciously registered the change in my mother's voice when she said, "Good. I'll see you Tuesday, Fujika."

Her firmness made me believe that hiding somewhere inside my mother was a woman I used to know.

_- x -_

Friday was my last day at the café on shift before my two week break. That was the day Tezuka came in five minutes earlier than he usually did. He put the money for two cups of coffee on the edge of the table, waiting for me to arrive with a pot and two cups.

Today, he didn't have a book with him. I wondered if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

"It almost feels like you're a different person." I said, amused, as I poured us a separate cup each. He took one cup, and I sat down in front of the other one. "What with arriving early and leaving books behind."

He was smiling. "A change is as good as a rest."

"There really is no limit to your knowledge of proverbs, is there?" I asked, returning the gesture. "I'll need all the proverbs I can get. I'm not sure how things will turn out when I take even a short break from this café."

It was his turn to be amused. "From the sound of it, the world outside the café is unfamiliar to you."

Sheepishly, I laughed. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Not a bad thing." He said. "All bad things are stepping stones to a reformed future."

"That is, 'April showers bring May flowers.'" I said. "I'm learning quickly from you."

"Today is not the end of lessons, nor is it of work here." He said. "Perhaps you can use your time outside the café to think what it is you've been working towards all these years."

I blinked. "What I've been working towards?"

"We all have a goal that we aim to work towards."

I folded my arms over the table and looked mischievously at him. "And what would your goal be?"

Tezuka went silent. His smile did not vanish completely, but it faltered. His sudden reaction made me wonder if my words had hit a sensitive, undisclosed part of him. "Life is not meant to be brooded over, but we who have regrets do it instinctively." He said. "My only priority, as of now, is to finish what I have on my plate before I ask for more."

As he was speaking, his eyes fell to the steaming cup of coffee before him. He opted to take a sip as I sat there, silent. Wasn't this the first time Tezuka has said anything to affirm himself, rather than making me guess blindly?

When he noticed the absentminded look in my eyes, he lowered his cup and smiled over the rim of it. I couldn't decide whether his words from earlier were a good sign or a bad one.

"The fact that your boss hasn't rostered you on tomorrow doesn't overrule your liberty to come back for a morning cup of coffee." He said, as he saw Tsuwabaki coming out of the kitchen and detected a potential threat to our peaceful existence. "And if you aren't here tomorrow, then I will understand why."

_Why..._ Was he asking me to skip over what was on my plate? Or was it something else?

He ended our little morning session with a smile. "I will not hold you up this time."

I wondered if those words had a meaning behind them, too.

_- x -_

I could only have wondered whether the meaning behind Tezuka's session that day was that "a change was as good as a rest," or if it was more than that.

Change. Dreams. Actions. And the arrival of my mother in a few days. I wondered if there was a link in particular that Tezuka had wanted me to explore. And I wondered if he was trying to encourage me to do something he never had the courage to do.

_"My only priority, as of now, is to finish what I have on my plate before I ask for more."_

The last thing I thought about when I graduated from high school was if my father made it to the place everyone said good people went to. He wasn't a hero in the greatest sense of the word, nor was he a man known by many; he was just another of the many that died every day. My greatest fear was that his lack of recognition on earth would lead to his lack of recognition in a higher place.

After that, I didn't have any dreams for the future. The only thing I had when I graduated was the self-reassurance that he was somewhere, and he was safe.

When I went home that night, and I attempted to decode Tezuka's words, something hit me.

I had never fully gotten over the way my father died. There were few people who needed to be informed of his death; his parents had passed away several years ago, and he had few friends outside of work. There were some who came to his funeral, but not many. Few needed to be invited to it in the first place. And hardly anyone took the time to lay a rose, or even a tear, at the bed of his grave.

I hated the way that no one cared. That was why I was never able to move on completely.

As I sank into a chair, I let my eyes stray across the photographs on the table—photos of my family when my father was alive; photos with my friends when my mother loved to capture memories; photos with everyone when I was happy with my life. There was an abundance in photos of a small girl, smiling shyly at the camera when she was by herself and widely when her father was there with her. Her happiness dwindled as she grew, and the appearance of her father in photos became rarer and rarer.

When my father was admitted to hospital, my mother gave up on taking photos of that would become nothing more than ill memories. It had been well worth it. The last photo I remembered my mother taking was of the first birthday I'd 'celebrated' without my father there.

I'd never told Tezuka more about me than I felt was necessary, but he could have just as easily guessed what kind of life I led. Had Tezuka's goal been to ease the anomalies resurfacing in my current life, or to prepare me for what lay ahead?

Tezuka was as much of a mystery as the dreams I'd buried within myself long ago. Four months of knowing him had barely scratched the surface of his passive façade.

I felt as if I had been seen through by the stranger named Tezuka Kunimitsu.

With my thoughts unsettled, sleep did not claim me easily that night.

_- x -_

I took up Tezuka's offer and went to the café the next day. In an attempt to surprise him, I aimed to make it there at precisely seven o'clock. He was amused when I walked in ten minutes later. Without looking at me directly, he said, "Time waits for no man."

"Enlighten me." I said as I sat down. I started to pull out money for a cup of coffee, since I wasn't on shift, but Tezuka gently pushed my hand away and brought out the money for two cups before I could protest.

"I challenged time to a race." Tezuka said. "Briefly, I won."

"Just briefly?"

"I wonder if time were to challenge me, time would win." He said.

Tsuwabaki was the one who served us. When she came to the table, she gave me a long stare. "I roster you off for two weeks, and you come waltzing back in the next day, whether you're the customer or the waitress." She said. "I have half a mind to make you sweep right now."

"Oh... I can—"

"No, Shui-san, that was just a bad joke. I'll stand by what I said." She sighed, pouring the both of us two cups of coffee. She collected the money in her hand and placed it back in front of Tezuka. "Here's your change."

He looked at the change. Then he looked at her.

"Today's on the house." Tsuwabaki said. "Enjoy the coffee while it lasts."

She left before I could thank her.

I picked up the coffee in my hands, glad to feel the warming up after the late fall chill had turned them blue, and smiled over the rim, as Tezuka had done yesterday. "Thank you for the coffee, Tezuka."

He smiled. And this time, it wasn't his usual. It was soft, but... "Always."

There was mellowness in his eyes. And it wasn't just warmth.

"Tezuka-san..."

"Fujika." He said, subtly transitioning from sadness to amusement. I almost didn't notice. "That was in your message. Am I wrong?"

The worries I had for Tezuka soon dissipated. "No. I don't think there will be quite a moment like when you're wrong, considering I've never seen it firsthand." I laughed a bit. "Have we ever had a conversation on anything less intellectual than books and human behavior? Save for my incompetence."

He smiled at that one.

_- x -_

Before I slept that night, knowing I was bound for another restless sleep, I received mail from Tezuka. I smiled when I read the words, _"Good night."_

I wondered if it was his attempt to end a conversation that we'd never started—the normal conversation that we would one day have—or if it was the ear telling the voice what it wanted to hear. I made sure to reply before sleeping.

His words eased my restless conscience for that night. And for the many nights that he continued to mail me _good night_, my mind remained at ease.

_- x -_

During our coffee session the following morning, Tezuka said to me, "Your mother comes on Tuesday."

"Yes." I said. "I'm picking her up from the airport that evening."

"Do you have plans before then?"

I willingly let a smile free. "Are you asking me to go somewhere with you?"

"A short trip across terra incognita." Tezuka said. "Preparation is a worthwhile experience: perhaps even more so than what you are preparing for."

"I think you're hinting at something."

He rewarded me with a smile, and a raised coffee cup. "To terra incognita."

I raised my cup, and we clinked them together—gently, for coffee cups weren't made to be clinked.

_- x -_

We met for our usual coffee session the next day, and Tezuka, as always, had something magical to say. That was, he spoke in a way normal people didn't. Speaking cryptically was almost like an art that was long-lost to literal and cultural changes. And yet, it was something that Tezuka revived in his everyday life. He was a man like no other.

Instead of returning to our daily lives after the session, the two of us walked outside the café together. Tezuka asked, "Where would you like to go?"

I smiled. A pleasantry. "Was I incorrect to assume that you had already planned today out?"

"You weren't." He said. "There is a place I would like to show you."

The skies were a hint that in the next few days, we would witness the first sight of snow. I saw past my mother's visit and realized that, soon, winter would be upon us. Here was to another year, I reflected, of cold, lonely nights in a dark apartment, remembering that December was the month in which my father had been buried. The first cascade of snow had hidden his coffin beneath a white blanket, and the Christmas lights strung up nearby gave the graveyard a spiritual glow closer to dark. On those nights, it almost felt like my father had woken up for my sake: to tuck me into bed like he used to, when I had fallen asleep in an attempt to meet Christmas Day with my own eyes.

In harmony with the minds of traditional atheists, Christmas held no meaning for me.

The place Tezuka took me to was a little way down the street from the café. Though I walked to work, this particular location was situated outside my usual route. That might have been the reason I hadn't known the Little Library existed.

It wasn't an old store, but the stories filling the shelves might have been. We were greeted by the shopkeeper, and, in turn, we greeted him. Tezuka, who was familiar with the shop, led the way through the center aisle.

Our path was intercepted by a man replacing books on the shelf by their spines. He was brooding over a selection of books, his eyes roving back and forth in a hypnotic motion, until he noticed that there were figures approaching him. He turned his head to us and blinked slowly. "Tezuka?"

"Ōishi." Tezuka said in response. I wondered if Ōishi was a friend or otherwise, based on the way Tezuka was speaking to him. It seemed as if they were merely acquaintances.

And yet, a smile eased on Ōishi's face. "I'm just browsing for a book. It's a bit early, but... while I was out; I thought I should stop by. I didn't think I would run into you. The world really is a small place."

The chuckle that followed Ōishi's words started to taper off when he noticed me standing there.

"Oh... I'm sorry." I said, bowing. "I'm Shui Fujika. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Ah, the same here." Ōishi said, returning the gesture with less composure. Our formal introductions did not dismiss the bewildered look on his face. "I'm a friend of Tezuka's. My name is Ōishi Syūichirou. You are...?"

I blinked, initially unsure how to respond—especially with Tezuka standing right beside me. "We're..."

"Friends." Tezuka finished for me. "I wanted to show her something."

"Aren't you lea—"

Tezuka was quick to cut him off. "Ōishi."

Ōishi blinked. Then, upon glancing at me, he seemed to realize something. "Ah... I didn't realize. I'm sorry." He said, taking a step away from the section on the shelf he had previously been so fixated on. "At any rate, I should be going now. I might come back later to search for a read. Maybe you could find me a recommendation."

He nodded at Tezuka, and then gave me a small bow.

"I'll see you, Tezuka." He said. "And it was nice meeting you, Shui-san."

"You too, Ōishi-san." I said, bowing in return. He give us both a quick smile before taking his leave.

Tezuka followed Ōishi with his eyes to make sure his friend's retreating figure left the shop. Ōishi did not turn back and look at us.

"Kunimitsu-san, that was..."

"A friend." Tezuka said. He didn't linger on the topic, choosing instead to head deeper into the back of the store. I could not help but think that he was hiding something from me.

We arrived at a section of the book store where I found English titles engraved across the spines of leather-bound, aging books. Hoping to see Tezuka relax, I started a new topic. "This is..."

Slowly, he did. "I thought you might like it. There are quite a number of classics here."

I saw books by Ernest Hemingway... Nathaniel Hawthorne... Oscar Wilde... and remarked the diversity of the collection. To find this in the corner of an old book store was...

I caught Tezuka looked amusedly at my mystified face.

"I thought you might like it." He said, reaching forward to ease one of the books out from the shelf. I tried to read the title, but it was in a language I didn't recognize. "It's German. _Durch einen Spiegel, in einem dunklen Wort._"(1)

"I didn't know you spoke German." I said, impressed. "Just how many languages do you speak?"

He smiled, but did not speak.

"Then... I guess I'll take this one." I said, taking _Poems and Prose: William Blake_ from the shelf.(2)

"I didn't know you were a fan of poetry, much less Blake."

I smiled, but did not speak.

_- x -_

What Ōishi had wanted to say to Tezuka was something that I could not begin to guess, based on the few hints I was given. The frown creasing his face, his anxious voice, and the guilt he possessed when he was cut off by Tezuka. What he had realized must have been something that Tezuka hadn't told me.

But I couldn't connect the dots if I didn't have any to start with.

I suppose that, in some sense, the ear never has to start a conversation. He never has to tell the voice what its worries are; its purpose is to listen, and comfort. In that sense, was I being unfair, or just abiding by stereotypes?

That night, I was the first to mail Tezuka.

_"I had a lovely day today. And thank you for walking me home."_

His reply came within moments. _"You're always welcome. Good night, Fujika."_

In turn, I wrote, _"Good night, Kunimitsu-san."_

* * *

**Notes:**

_Durch einen Spiegel, in einem dunklen Wort:_ The German adaption of Jostein Gaarder's _"Through the Glass, Darkly."_ The original title and book would have been in Norwegian, but let's just make it this for my sake, your sake and Tezuka's sake. I'm not a Jostein Gaarder fan, guys, but let's just pretend Tezuka is.

_William Blake:_ Blake. Yes, I can talk about him. He was a British poet from the Romantic era. Some of his works include The Marriage of Heaven and Hell (c. 1790 - 1793), Songs of Innocence (c. 1789), Songs of Experience (c. 1789 - 1794), so... you guys may know _The Poison Tree_, _The Echoing Green_, _A Divine Image_, _Proverbs of Hell_, _A Memorable Fancy_, and so forth. I saw my chance to add him in, readers, and I took it. I'm sorry.

* * *

**Princo & Ribbon**

_June 6, 2013._


End file.
